


Soft Skeletons

by starlight_starbright



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bloodplay, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Consentual Sex, Or Knives, Please Don't Read If Rape Triggers You, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Prostitute Steve, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rape, Rape Recovery, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hasn’t let Bucky touch him since he started doing this. He knows Bucky is confused, possibly hurt, but Steve just can't. Can't drag the man he loves into this ugliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Anberlin.
> 
> For an anon on tumblr.

The hallway is cold and Steve shivers. He has to stay here, though. Can't go home until someone chooses him, until he does his job. His job. A prostitute. Dirty. Ugly. But desirable. The men like someone who can't fight back. They like how small Steve is, how easily they can hurt him. There’s one man in particular who likes drugs and knives. He’ll give Steve a pill that makes him complacent. He’s said he doesn’t want it, that the man technically isn’t allowed to do this to him, but Steve needs the money and the man pays well. So he puts up with it, lays still while the man fucks him, cuts him. His thighs, mostly. Places it can't be seen but also so close to Steve’s most intimate places—places he’s only enjoyed Bucky touching.

Bucky.

He hasn’t let Bucky touch him since he started doing this. He knows Bucky is confused, possibly hurt, but Steve just can't. Can't drag the man he loves into this ugliness. Bucky is still bright and full of life. Steve can't taint him with darkness. He just can't. He does so much for Steve as is, he doesn’t need to be involved in this.

So Steve suffers silently, takes the money. Does his part to keep them afloat. If he didn’t, Bucky would kill himself taking extra shifts at the docks just to pay for Steve’s inhalers. To pay to keep the heat on so that Steve won't get sick.

Steve loves him for this, for the way Bucky cares for him. But he can't let Bucky do all the work. He can't.

There are a lot of “can't’s” in his life right now. Can't let Bucky know about this. Can't leave this hotel. Can't say no to whatever the men want to do to him. Can't complain. Can't resist.

“You,” a voice says, a man popping his head out of a room in front of him. And oh god its him. The man with the knives. Steve steels himself and walks into the dark room. “Go lay on the bed. Take off your clothes.” Steve does as he’s told and keeps quiet. The man likes his silence. There’s a knife, and then the knife is digging into his left thigh, dangerously close to Steve’s entrance. “Mmh, you like that, don’t you?” _No, no I don’t._ His breath smells like alcohol and he’s fucking getting off of this. On hurting Steve. But he doesn’t let his disgust show. He needs the money. He can feel the blood dripping onto the sheets and holds back tears. He should be used to this by now, he can be strong. For Bucky.

The knife cuts in slowly, moving upwards, closer and closer to his hole. Steve is suddenly intensely uncomfortable and he’s fed up. He pushes the man away, trying to get to his feet. The man took him by the throat and shoved him down. Steve started to panic. He can't breathe.

“Stay put, whore,” the man hisses, face twisting in rage. And Steve can tolderate a lot of things, can call himself a lot of things, but hearing someone else say it is completely different.

“No,” he protests, trying to get away. A fist connects with his jaw and Steve’s vision goes white. The hand around his throat constricts and, ludicrously, Steve wonders how he’s going to hide the bruises. A pill is shoved down his throat and he’s forced to swallow.

“You gonna be a good whore for me?” Steve doesn’t answer, can't answer. The drug works fast, making his body limp, but his mind is still his own. No! he wants to scream. No, don’t do this, please. But the man takes his silence as a _yes,_ of course. He always does. He undoes his pants and doesn’t even prep Steve before pushing in.

“No,” Steve gasps, but he can't make his body work. Can't make his hands shove away the body on top of his. The man hits him again and grips his hip harder with the hand not holding the silver weapon.

“Bad whore,” the man murmurs, trailing the knife dangerously close to Steve’s dick. It leaves a shallow line of red before pressing into the skin at Steve’s hip. Tears form in Steve’s eyes and he turns his face away. When the man climaxes, he groans loudly and pushes the knife harshly into Steve’s inner thigh. Steve curls in on himself as the man does up his pants. He still has no control over his body, not really. It’s on instinct that he tries to cover himself up. “I expect you to behave better next time.” _There won't be a next time_ , Steve thinks. No matter how much he needs the money, he can't do this anymore.

The door opens and closes and Steve stays where he is for an immeasurable amount of time. He keeps his eyes closed, trying to think of anything but what had just happened. Thinking of Bucky makes him feel worse, and there really isn’t any other light in his life.

And _oh, God, what time is it?_

He’s not going to have time to clean up before Bucky gets home. It’s almost nine already. Steve gets up on wobbly legs and pulls his clothes on gingerly. The rough material of his pants hurts like hell, but it’s not like he can walk home naked. Grabbing the bills from the nightstand, he stuffs the money in his pocket and limps out of the room, down the stairs, and onto the street. He only lives about four blocks from here. He can make it, right?

Thirty minutes of agony later, he opens the door to the apartment he shares with Bucky. The older man is sprawled out on the couch with a book. He looks beautiful—brow creased in concentration, jeans clinging to muscular legs. He looks up when the door opens and nearly falls off the couch.

“What—” Steve ignores him and struggles to the bathroom. “Steve!” he hears Bucky call after him, but he locks the door. “What the fuck happened?” he asks from outside the door, jiggling the doorknob. Steve can't stop his tears, the awful sobs ripping out of his chest. He can't breathe, can't face Bucky, can't even steady his hands enough to clean up the blood. So instead, he crumples onto the floor and buries his face in his hands. “Steve, let me in,” Bucky begs. When Steve doesn’t answer, Bucky _kicks the door open_ and all Steve can think is that they can't afford to have it replaced.

The brunette drops to his knees beside him, reaching out to touch him. Steve flinches away, too vivid memories of different hands declaring themselves in his head. Bucky sucks in a breath, but doesn’t comment. He sits opposite of Steve, against the sink, and waits. Steve doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want to face him. He can't . . . he can't lose him. Can't.

So many “can’t’s” again.

“Just . . . talk to me, Steve. Who did this to you?” Steve can't form words in more ways than one. He doesn’t know what to say, and on the other hand that bruising force on his throat may have temporarily impaired his voice. “Steve, just say the word and I’ll rip him apart.” Steve glances up. _No, don’t do that, he’ll hurt you too._ But Steve can't form the words so he just shakes his head. “Please,” Bucky whispers, reaching out. Steve takes his hand and squeezes. Mimes for paper. Bucky jumps up and grabs a notebook and a pen and hands it to him, this time taking a seat beside him.

_I think my vocal cords are bruised._

“What the fuck Steve?”

_I can't tell you._

“Why the hell not?” A tear drops from his chin, smearing the ink, and Bucky takes his hand again. “I'm sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I love you.” Steve shakes his head morosely. Of course Bucky doesn’t love him. He can't.

_I’ll tell you. But I need to clean up. Please. Can I do this myself?_

He doesn’t want Bucky to see the cuts, the blood. Bucky nods and stands up, offering Steve his hand. He takes it and allows the brunette to pull him up. But then he makes the mistake of turning his back to Bucky. He hears the sharp inhale and spins around. Shit.

“Steve . . .” There’s blood seeping through his pants. “Stevie, what happened?” Steve shakes his head and underlines the last thing he had written. “I can't let you do it yourself. You won't be able to reach.” Steve sighs and nods. Bucky goes to gather washcloths and bandages and antiseptic while Steve takes his clothes off. It hurts, _God_ it hurts go bad. He can feel every tentatively closed wound opening up again as he shimmies out of his pants.

Bucky returns with his arms full, tossing everything down on the counter. Steve blushes and turns away when Bucky looks at him.

“I’ve seen you naked before, Steve,” Bucky says gently. “Nothing to be afraid of. I’m not going to hurt you. Ever.”

“I know that,” he says, throat aching. Bucky reaches out as if to touch his face, but drops his hand.

“’Mere, Stevie. Lemme look at you.” Steve steels himself and does as he’s told, wincing when the warm hands probe at his body, dabbing antiseptic and covering wounds with bandages. It takes a while before Bucky gets to his thighs, but when he does, Steve can almost hear the anger in Bucky’s breathing.

“Let it out, Buck. Won't do any good to keep it bottled up.” Bucky doesn’t look up from what he’s doing.

“I’m going to kill whoever did this to you.” Steve sighs sadly, knowing he has to tell Bucky what happened.

“I think . . . I need to tell you what happened.” Bucky straightens up, looking Steve in the eyes.

“Go put some sweatpants on and get in bed first,” he says, the end of it going up like a question. Steve nods and, again, does as he’s told. He pulls on the soft cotton pants, Bucky’s, he realises. They’re too big on him, but he feels warm in them. Curling up under the comforter, he sees Bucky preparing a glass of water before coming back over to Steve. The older man hovers, unsure.

“You can sit,” Steve assures. “I’d actually like it . . . if you could hold me.” _It might be the last time_ , he thinks. It’s selfish, he knows, but he truly doesn’t care. Bucky scrambles to get under the covers and pull Steve into his arms. Steve takes a deep breath.

“You . . . you don’t have to,” Bucky says, giving him a way out. But Steve doesn’t want to lie anymore.

“Yes. You deserve to know. I . . . you always worked too hard, Bucky.” He hides his face in Bucky’s shirt. “I couldn’t . . . I needed to find a way to help out. I told you I’d been selling my artwork, but . . . that wasn’t enough. I . . . there’s this hotel and you walk the halls until someone picks you.” Bucky inhales sharply. “This guy—he likes . . . hurting me.” Bucky is tense all over and Steve just feels so disgusted with himself. He’s hurt Bucky. He’s done everything wrong. “It was good money, though. So I put up with it. Until this last time. This last time . . . he took it too far. I . . . I tried to make him stop. But he was stronger than me.” Bucky pulls away and Steve wants to cry.

“Look at me,” Bucky says quietly, angrily. Steve looks up, tears forming in his eyes. “No—fuck—Steve. No. I'm not . . . I'm not angry with you, baby. Not you. It’s not your fault.” Steve lets the tears overflow—wracking sobs that hurt every part of his body. “Stevie. I love you. Please.” Steve just shakes his head.

“You can't. I don’t . . . I don’t deserve you. Not after what I've done.” Bucky takes his hands gently.

“Can I . . .?”

“Yes.” Bucky takes him into his arms, pressing kisses to Steve’s damp hair, his forehead, his cheeks.

“Don’t ever say that, Steve. I love you. God, I love you and I should have known. I should have . . . but that’s not the point. I still—of course I still fuckin’ love you. And I want to rip his head off.” Steve smiles slightly. Bucky loves him. Bucky wants to protect him. But that’s not right. Steve is small and thin and so much is wrong with him. So much . . . sickness and ugliness. “Don’t think like that, Stevie. You’re still my best guy.” And Steve crumples in his arms sobbing. “Please believe me.” Steve nods, because it’s all he can do.

“I love you, too,” he whispers. Bucky kisses his forehead again.

“You need to get some rest. If you don’t . . . I can sleep on the couch.” Steve looks up at him, confused.

“You don’t . . . I can't ask you to sleep in the same bed as me, Bucky. I can't.” Bucky holds him tightly.

“Why not?” Steve struggles for words.

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t think you’d want to sleep with . . . with . . .”

“With what, Stevie?” Bucky is concerned. Of course he is.

“With a whore,” he breathes. Bucky tenses all over and Steve is sure he’s angered him.

“Steve. Just fuckin’ no. Okay? Look at me. You’re not a whore. That man . . . that man raped you, Steve. You did nothing wrong. I understand you doing . . . can't blame a fella for doing what he thinks he has to. But you didn’t. You didn’t have to.” Steve presses his face into Bucky’s chest. “Let’s go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.” Steve allows himself to be pulled down, tucked under the blankets and close to Bucky’s side.

“I love you,” Steve reminds him.

“I love you so fuckin’ much, Steve.” Steve grants him a small smile and kisses his shoulder, not ready to really kiss him yet. But Bucky seems okay with this, seems to understand. They’re okay. Or as close to okay as they can be right now. Bucky is holding on to him and Steve knows he’s not going to let go.

-

It takes months for Steve to recover. Months of gentle touches and reassuring words. Months of warm soup and hugs and tentative kisses anywhere but Steve’s lips. But he does. He does get better. Bucky tells him everyday that he’s amazing, that he can't believe how well Steve’s doing. Every night, Bucky holds him and wakes him up from the nightmares and tells him he loves him.

So after those months, Steve thinks he might be ready. For more.

While Bucky is at work, Steve makes dinner. He sets the table and lights two candles, hoping. Hoping that it’s not too soon for Bucky. He had checked himself today, this morning after Bucky had left. The scarring was just that—scarring. No pain that he could feel. That’s good, right?

Steve busies himself with dinner, letting his mind wander. What if Bucky sees his scars and doesn’t want him anymore? He’s only seen Steve naked twice since . . . since it happened, and Steve can't help but be afraid. But no, Bucky continues to reassure Steve that he loves him. Bucky loves him. He thinks that if he says it enough, Steve might believe it. And it might possibly be working.

The door opens and closes and Bucky’s home. He hears him kick his boots off and then feels warm arms encircling his waist. Steve leans in to the touch, no longer afraid of it.

“Smells good, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs into his ear. Steve smiles.

“Go get cleaned up. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Bucky kisses his neck and then disappears into the bedroom. And _God_ thinking about Bucky naked . . . Steve can feel himself getting hard and he decides that dinner can wait. He blows the candle out and meanders into the bedroom. Bucky is leaning against the wall shirtless, thumb and index finger pressed to either side of the bridge of his nose. “Buck?” His voice sounds small and he hates it, but Bucky looks up.

“Hey,” Bucky says, pushing off the wall to stand in front of Steve.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and he can see Bucky trying to come up with a suitable lie. “You’re not. C’mere.” Steve drags him to the bed and curls up in his lap. “What’s goin’ on?” Bucky nuzzles into Steve’s hair.

“I just . . . I worry about you, Stevie.” Steve looks up into those pale blue eyes and smiles.

“I’m okay, Buck.” Steve leans in slowly and presses his lips to Bucky’s. The first real kiss they’ve shared in months. Bucky’s hand reaches up to cup Steve’s jaw and Steve lets out a small sound of approval. He deepens the kiss, moving to throw his leg over the older man’s hips so that he’s straddling him.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, looking up at him in confusion.

“I want you,” Steve murmurs, kissing him again.

“Are you sure?” Steve laughs and Bucky smiles. “God, I love you.” Bucky reaches up to kiss him, hands slipping under Steve’s shirt. He has to take a deep breath, reminding himself that this is Bucky, and this is safe. “Stevie?” Steve kisses him again.

“I’m fine. Just . . . take it slow, okay?” Bucky nods.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, pulling at Steve’s shirt. He nods and the brunette pulls the thin sweater off of Steve’s small frame. Bucky’s eyes widen and Steve squirms under his gaze, fighting the urge to cover himself up. “Don’t do that. You're incredible. Gorgeous.” One finger traces the pink scar across his collarbone. “Does this hurt?” he asks, hushed. Steve shakes his head. “Okay. Pants?” Steve rolls over so Bucky can pull his pants off. The older man peppers Steve’s chest and stomach with kisses on the way down before undoing the material and pulling them off. More kisses on Steve’s hips, Steve’s legs. The pants hit the floor and Steve is completely naked and hard under Bucky’s gaze.

“I love you,” he reminds Bucky. “I trust you.” Bucky dips down, keeping eye contact, and kisses along Steve’s inner thigh. A sharp inhale, hand fisting in short, dark hair, and Bucky stops.

“Okay?” Steve nods, words escaping him. He feels the shaky breath against his legs as Bucky laughs, and then continues.

“You have too many clothes,” Steve tells him, sitting up so that he’s nose-to-nose with the bigger man. “Take off your pants.” Bucky smiles and kisses him.

“Bossy,” he laughs. Steve smacks his chest.

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

“Sap,” Steve teases. Bucky pushes him down slowly, giving Steve time to escape if he wants to, but Steve doesn’t want to. Bucky’s hand is warm on Steve’s chest, thumb running over a hard nipple. “Bucky,” he gasps, arching his back.

“So pretty, Stevie,” Bucky croons, reaching down to stroke Steve slowly. After a few moments of being an incredible tease, Bucky takes pity on him and grabs the Vaseline off of the nightstand. “Are you sure?” he asks again, looking down at Steve.

“I’m completely sure. I want you, James Buchannan Barnes.” Bucky’s face screws up at Steve using his full name, but presses a kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose, slicking his fingers.

“Tell me if you need to stop and I will. We don’t have to do this.” Steve rolls his eyes, but really is grateful for Bucky’s concern.

“I’ll tell you. And I know you will. I want this. And I love you.” Bucky nods and pushes the tip of his finger in slowly, so slowly. Steve takes a deep breath. _This is Bucky. This is safe. It’s Bucky. Safe._ The finger pushes deeper, twisting slowly and Steve’s dick twitches, precome pooling on his stomach. “Please,” he moans, his hand finding Bucky’s free one and squeezing.

“More?”

“Please.” Bucky adds another finger just as slowly, holding on to Steve’s hand. After a few minutes, he adds another finger and then removes them, wiping the excess over his cock.

“Ready?” he asks gently. Steve nods, biting his lip. He can do this, he can. “We can stop, if you want.” Steve shakes his head and lifts his hips, an invitation. Bucky leans forward to kiss him as he pushes in slowly. Steve takes deep breaths, keeping his body relaxed for Bucky. The older man is gentle, thrusting deep but slow, murmuring encouragements. “Beautiful,” he’ll whisper. “I love you.” When Steve comes, Bucky catches the moans in a kiss, coming at the same time.

After, they cuddle up close—naked—and Bucky kisses Steve’s forehead.

“I love you so fuckin’ much, Stevie. You’re amazing.” Steve smiles and kisses him softly.

“I love you, too.”  
-  
It’s 2015 and Steve still has nightmares about the man with the knives. They just go along with all the other awful nightmares. But, as always, he has Bucky. Bucky came back to him and somehow, somehow they’re here together.


End file.
